


Green Carnation/Mourning

by CadetDru



Series: Virtues of the Arrangement [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Coming Out, Grief/Mourning, Love, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Seven Heavenly Virtues, The Arrangement (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 06:04:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19370953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CadetDru/pseuds/CadetDru
Summary: Green carnation at a graveside: mourning for love gone awry.





	Green Carnation/Mourning

Aziraphale stood near, but not precisely at, Oscar Wilde’s gravesite. It was spring 1907 in Paris. It had been ten years since Oscar had been released from his imprisonment, and seven years since he had died. Aziraphale tried to come every year, on the anniversary of either Oscar’s rebirth or demise.  Aziraphale preferred to visit in spring, holding back from intruding on any human who might be in the cusp of their own artistic revelation.

He had a green carnation pinned to his cream coat, and a worried expression furrowed on his brow.

Crowley sort of appeared next to Aziraphale, as he did sometimes. They had always kept track of each other before the Arrangement, now it was just a bit easier.  “Paris is beautiful in the spring,” Crowley said in hushed tones. “Is that why you come?”

“You know where we are, who he is?”

“This is a Paris graveyard full of dead people rotting away. You are here personally to visit Oscar Wilde.  I assume you were friends?” Crowley paused for Aziraphale’s nod, despite knowing the answer.

Aziraphale had quite openly been as openly homosexual as it was possible for a presumably-sexless angel to be in this particularly prudish time.  He never brought anyone up on libel or slander charges, there was no need.  He also never seduced younger men or hired prostitutes, so there was an even further level of detachment from his unfortunate friends.

“I never met him personally, but I knew some of his friends. They probably didn’t run in your circles,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale scoffed.  “His friends. Oh, everyone knew some of Oscar’s friends.  He put me in his book, you know,” Aziraphale said, more conversationally. “I know you don’t read these things, but it was quite an honor.  He gave me quite the role too. Cast me as the personification of an artist in love, even left in some of my relationship with him. He was too generous with me, cast me in quite the flattering light.”

Crowley awkwardly patted Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale’s hand flew up, quickly pressing down on Crowley’s hand to keep it there. “I’m sorry,” Crowley said, carefully pulling his hand back.

“I know that this is your side’s doing.”

“My side?”

“Love is a virtue, the principal virtue.”  Aziraphale stood a little taller, held his head a little higher. “They martyred poor Oscar.  How many more innocent men will be made to suffer for expressing the love that God herself instilled in them?”

“You want to be a martyr, too,” Crowley said dryly. “Are you going to seduce young men to the way of the Lord by way of the love that dare not speak its name?”

“If it's to be the affection of an older man for a younger, then my love would certainly qualify.”

“I don’t think affection is the right word, angel,” Crowley said, trying to needle Aziraphale.

“That’s how I know your side is behind. Taking something pure and twisting it.”

“My understanding is that not everything your lad did was pure,” Crowley said, in a soft hiss. He didn’t expect Aziraphale to acknowledge the remark, and he wasn’t disappointed. “Not all types of love are so virtuous, not all older men are so kind as you.”

“He didn’t deserve imprisonment.  He didn’t deserve death.” Aziraphale was on the verge of tears.

“No one deserves death, but it finds them.”

Aziraphale stood motionlessly, twisted with anger, eyes fixed ahead of him.

“He must have thought quite highly of you.” Crowley unnecessarily cleared his throat.

“He put me in the role of a man utterly destroyed by the sheer concept of Love.”

“He knew what he was about,” Crowley said.  “How about I tempt you to some lunch? I know you like the food here. A little vice to make the virtue more tolerable.  That’s what we’re all about, what we all need.”

Aziraphale nodded, distractedly. Crowley led him away.


End file.
